The Embargo
by Brookebynature
Summary: After Damon imposes a somewhat ridiculous sex ban, a rather frustrated Elena tries her best to make him cave.
1. Prologue

**A/N-** So how many of you out there still read Delena fiction? This site seems a little quiet considering there's almost a 100% chance that we get a Delena reunion next season. Anyway, this mini fic (I'm estimating about 5 or 6 more chapters) is a kind of sequel to **'Delivery Room'** so if you haven't read that yet, it's not essential but if you fancy a little light reading, go check it out and review ;)

Enjoy x

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The Embargo

"Damonnnnn!" Elena whines, using her best pout to no avail. He's not budging and this sex embargo is killing her. The candles are lit, the music is playing softly, Caroline is watching Ariella _\- she's even run him a freaking bath -_ but he just seems mildly amused.

"No Elena."

She huffs out of the room, stomping downstairs.

"Where are you going?" He calls out, his amused tone now really pissing her off.

"Wine." She answers in one word and she can just picture him breaking into that signature smirk of his that she finds so sexy and irresist… god damnit! She has to stop thinking about sex.

And then it comes to her. Alcohol! What she needs to do is get Damon good and drunk. Like _really_ drunk. And then she can just take advantage and have her wicked way. She breaks into a grin. Why the hell hadn't she thought of this earlier?!

"You're smirking and I do believe that's my move." Damon eyes her from the doorway.

"I'm going to drink your best wine." She shrugs nonchalantly. "One of those ones you've been aging since….oh I don't know...the 50's."

"Are you now?" He cocks an eyebrow.

Elena nods. "Uh huh. And you know what?"

"What?"

"I'm probably not even going to appreciate it. I'm going to gulp it down without letting it breathe. I might not even use the correct glass for a malbec."

Damon puts his hand over his chest, feining offence. "But you'll share right?"

"Oh I don't think so. I think I'll finish it in," she glances at the clock "approximately twenty minutes, before telling my _ass of a husband_ that it tastes just the same as a $6 bottle from Walmart."

She stomps off toward the cellar and Damon calls after her, "At least he's a hot piece of ass!"

X

When Damon had told Elena in the delivery room two months ago that they would have no sex ( _ever_ \- he'd added) to avoid a repeat of their birth _experience_ , she'd assumed he was being crazy. Because honestly, this was Damon, and sex was _his thing_. When they weren't at work or sleeping, they literally did it all the time. Did: past tense. Since she'd given birth to their daughter, they hadn't had sex once. Not even with protection because - and she rolls her eyes while remembering his exact wording - his sperm 'is likely to be too strong for something as flimsy as a latex barrier'. And to avoid any loss of self-control he refuses to touch her or let her touch him. Even their kisses are PG-13 and she simply can't take it any more.

Elena drains the last of the wine from her glass and closes her eyes against the hazy drunk feeling with a soft moan. Damon has watched her - again with that damn amused expression - the whole time and not only has it made her incredibly….aware… of him, it's also made planning her next move difficult to concentrate on. But she has it - her next move, that is.

All she needs is Caroline to agree to babysit (which shouldn't be a problem really), a tight dress to show off her baby-enhanced breasts and a table somewhere in town that serves decent food. And wine. Oh, and she'll need to book a cab. And buy some more perfume because she ran out earlier today. Perhaps she should get some dark silk sheets to remind him of their (okay, _her_ ) high school days. And make sure there's bodywash in the shower.

"You're smirking again." Damon drawls, a glass of bourbon dangling from his fingertips.

Oh, she'll need to remember to put a few bottles of water in the refrigerator to prevent the hangover if they're going to drink wine. She's been forgetting that a lot lately. Maybe she should write it down, she thinks. Her brain isn't what is used to be; she'd always thought that the whole baby-brain thing was a myth. Turns out it's undeniably true.

"And now you're frowning."

Remotely, her brain registers Damon's voice. "Huh?"

"You're scheming." He semises. Accurately.

"Am not."

"Are too."

She sighs and sits the empty glass down. "I'm going to bed. I'd ask if you're coming but I don't care."

He chuckles, low in his throat. "I love you Elena."

She narrows her eyes. "Uh huh."

Of course, he follows her upstairs and _of course_ , when he climbs in beside her he's wearing pajama pants. Damon pulls Elena toward him, wrapping his arms around her. Dropping a soft kiss into her hair that smells like vanilla and cherries, he reaches out to turn the lamp off and closes his eyes.

Elena's eyes are _not_ closed. If she's honest, the room is spinning a little (okay, _a lot_ ) and drinking the wine so fast has made her feel a little sick. But the main reason her eyes are not closed is because she's excited. Now, she has a plan to seduce Damon. A plan that's going to work. And, she concludes silently, she'll begin proceedings tomorrow.

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Enjoyed it? Hated it? Either way, a little review wouldn't hurt ;)


	2. Drunk

**A/N - Thanks for the reviews last chapter guys. Nice to see that quite a few of you are following this. It's kind of my first time writing a little smut, and there isn't loads, but hopefully you won't hate it ;) Anyways, hope you enjoy - and drop a little review in that box at the end :) x**

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Drunk

Damon smirks at his reflection as he completes the final button on his shirt. Usually, he finds there's nothing wrong with simple all black everything, but tonight he's opted for a light blue button down that he knows she loves. _It brings out your eyes_ , she always tells him before leaning in and nuzzling him just... _there_.

Damon knows what she's up to. She's cute when she's scheming and Elena has been scheming for days. If she's going to look ridiculously hot and make him desperate to have her, then he'll do the same. He refuses this to be solo torture. It's not like he doesn't want to touch her because _God_ , he wants to more than _anything_ and he thinks that if he were still a vampire, he'd have either drained the entire town or simply combusted what with all the sexual tension. But everytime he thinks of her in _that_ way, he's reminded of her face twisted in agony, the grip of her hand and the screams of pain in that delivery room and he can't witness that again. Also (and by no means secondary to the aforementioned) he refuses to faint again. He somehow has his perfect wife and his perfect daughter and he's not sure the universe will allow him any more. He figures he doesn't have the right to ask anyway.

Elena has spent the afternoon cooking. Or, more accurately, burning the hell out of some lasagne. The smoke alarm going off no less than four times is a reminder for them both as to why he cooks and she doesn't. Damon is also pretty sure that a perfectly good family lasagne dish has been ruined with welded-on cheese. She can't cook but at least she's gorgeous.

Nobody is babysitting tonight. He put Ariella down twenty minutes ago and she's out for the count; sleeps like her mom. Damon grins. Here he is, buttoning a shirt for a date with his _wife_ who just happens to be _Elena Gilbert_ \- no - _**Salvatore**_ \- and the mother of his _daughter_. And he's the one who gets to put their little girl to bed because somewhere, some saint has given him this perfect fucking life that he really doesn't deserve.

"Damon," Elena calls him. He smirks. She's using her purring voice. "I'm ready."

He makes his way downstairs, not before checking on Ariella. She's sound asleep and oblivious to her parents' games.

Fuck. She wasn't kidding. Now it's Elena wearing the smirk as she watches his jaw slacken.

"You're drooling." Her voice is seductive as hell and damn right he's drooling because she's acting out the fucking kitchen maid fantasy he told her about once when they were laying in bed the first night after their honeymoon. She's wearing heels that seem to make her legs even longer and she's paired them with stockings - _stockings_!

She's grinning now as Damon's eyes roam appreciatively upwards, lingering on the little black apron tied in a bow around her waist. There's nothing on her but black silk and red lace under that naughty little excuse for a cook's outfit and his dick is already hard. Elena cocks a brow at him. God she's good.

"Could you get us some wine?" She asks and it's so innocent that he's not sure if he just imagined the silk and lace. She bends over at the oven. He didn't.

Damon has to clear his throat first. "What would you like?"

"Don't mind. You choose."

She just wants him drunk. It's Damon's turn to grin. He may no longer have his vampire tolerance for booze but it's still better than hers'.

"Valpolicella okay?"

Elena simply shrugs. "Sounds good."

X

It's a good thing they have the wine. And a salad. The lasagne was _not_ good.

Elena is giggling. Damon's cheeks feel too hot. She's drunk. So is he.

"Ooooh! I made tiramisu!" She exclaims, nearly knocking the bottle of wine over - they've almost finished the second bottle and he knows a third is waiting in the wings. Damon figures they should probably stop drinking but he needs it to quell the hunger pangs. He highly doubts the tiramisu will succeed where the lasagne failed. Still, he's a supportive _husband_ (even thinking that makes him grin like a cheshire cat) and when she sets a large plate of the dessert his nonna used to make to perfection in front of him, he sticks a large forkful into his mouth. The taste is _not_ pleasant.

"I think I made it wrong." She frowns. She looks fucking adorable and he just wants to kiss that frown away. And then rip off her apron and burn it on the fire while they have sex in front of it. _That's_ not going to happen though.

"I'm not sure how we've had this much wine yet we can still taste the burnt."

"I can't cook."

"I still love you."

"Will you teach me?" She's back to downing the wine.

Damon considers as he swallows a large mouthful himself. If he teaches her to cook, it's likely that he might walk in one day to a nice, home-cooked meal and her in that little apron. It's also likely that she'll be handling knives and her track record with clumsiness isn't great. 55/45. He'd rather not have a burnt lasagne again.

"Of course."

"Chicken cacciatore?"

"Let's start small." he smiles, draining the last of the wine bottle into their glasses. "Maybe carne pizzaiola."

Elena smiles and places a hand on his when he starts to get up to fetch the third bottle of wine. "I'll get it." She's scheming again.

X

Damon isn't thinking of the scheming when she parks herself in his lap under the pretence of being cold. It's June. The humidity is getting greater with each day and even though she's only wearing lingerie - and that apron of course - the kitchen is about a hundred degrees and they're suffering under a cloud of smoke generated by burnt food. There's no fucking way she's cold. Still, none of that enters his teeny-tiny little brain because it's full of the feeling of her bare ass against his jeans.

Her arms are wrapped around his - which are wrapped around her - and his ankles are crossed over hers. She's the right kind of heavy and warm - _drunk heavy and warm_ \- and she feels so perfect sitting there in his lap that he just wants to keep sitting under that thin cloud of smoke wrapped around her, drinking red wine and laughing over terrible tiramisu.

"Come on." Elena releases his arms and stands, tugging him with her. They stumble a little and she giggles and grabs him. He's bathed in her scent: sugar and wine, musky perfume and a little smoke too. She's intoxicating. She's winning.

Elena knows she's winning too, when he hands move under the front of his shirt and he doesn't stop them. Her eyes fall to his lips and when she looks back at his own eyes, expecting to see pools of icy blue, she finds them shut, waiting. It's a frenzy then, of kisses and fumbling and soft moans - none of which are the PG-13 stuff they've become accustomed too. Elena grins. Damon catches her but his judgement is so hidden by the wine-haze and the Elena-haze that he's pretty much powerless to do anything about it all.

They back up toward the couch and then fall so that he's lying down and she's atop of him, her fingers deftly released his shirt buttons from their holes. Not once do they stop kissing. When they run out of air, Damon moves to kiss her neck and hears that Elena is gasping from breath but in the best way. Her eyes are only half-open slits of pure lust when he looks up at them - a view he gets for all of two seconds before her lips go to his jawline and she runs her teeth along it. That seems to send some sort of electric shock signal to his dick because although it was hard before, it's now like a rod of steel.

He shifts so that the strain doesn't tear a hole in his jeans and she smirks, feeling her effect on her inner thighs. Somehow, between the smirking and the kissing, he's managed to untie her apron so that it's dangling from her neck and she's managed to rid him of the shirt which is lying in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Damon pulls away from her lips for the shortest of seconds, distantly hearing her whimper at the break in contact, to lift the apron over her head. It joins his shirt. Elena pulls back to locate his belt but he places a hand on hers to still her. She looks at him questioningly - but then arches her back and moans when he pulls the black and red panties to the slide to run a finger between her legs. She's _soaking_.

"Damon…" She breathes, trying to claw at something desperately. Her hands are on his chest, but finding nothing to grab, she settles on his shoulders.

He smirks at her response and chuckles low in his throat when her eyes close and she rocks her core against his hand. God he's missed this but he _must_ keep control. He _must_.

Slowly, he teases a finger around her clit and she shudders with a moan. She uses her knees to lift up enough that he can slide a finger exactly where she wants it. He stretches up to press a kiss to the top of her breasts that are pushed up by heavenly satin but she's impatient.

"More."

He pulls his finger out of her to circle her clit a little faster and she frowns - _actually frowns_!

"Inside."

Damon switches the finger for his thumb, tracing circles lazily as he slips not one, but two fingers inside of her, and she's surprised but thrilled, and she leans back, arching herself toward him.

"Yes."

He quickens his pace with everything and she's sweating either from the fire's heat or the pent up frustration that he's finally releasing but whatever the reason, he doesn't care. She's quite clearly lost in a world that holds only him and her and the feeling she's getting from his hand.

When he feels her start to spasm periodically, he draws his fingers towards her front wall and then she's screaming his name, clamping her legs tightly against his hands as she claws her response into his shoulders. Her breasts are heaving in their satin and lace chamber, her hair tumbling around her shoulders is slick with sweat and she can barely speak. The satisfied smile on her face says it all as she collapses onto his chest, stroking his skin where she'd pierced moments ago.

"That was…" She trails off to kiss his lips. "worth the wait."

"Glad I could be of service."

His voice is thick as he drawls. He needs to keep himself in check.

Moments later, her hands make their way to his belt and his resolve is tested to the absolute limit, but he stays strong.

"Damon!" She whines. "Please?"

"No, I'm good."

She eyes the bulge in his jeans, clearly knowing the opposite.

"Maybe if you just…" her hand moves to cup his dick, but before it reaches its destination, he whips her off him with what feels like vampire strength yet they both know it isn't.

"No Elena." His voice is a warning. She pouts.

As if sensing her father's predicament, Ariella's monitor crackles into life with her whimpering and Elena rolls her eyes with a smile.

"Daddy's girl."

"Damn right," he grins, taking off up the stairs as Elena grabs his shirt and her apron from the floor.

So the plan had gone pretty well, all things considering, though she hadn't really banked on needing a follow-up. Still, a few days worth of scheming has gotten her pretty far tonight, and she figures it won't take too much more to break his resolve fully.

Let part two of winning the sex embargo commence.


	3. Chocolate

**A/N- I'm so sorry it's taken so long to update. I've spent many weekends too hungover to write! Anyways, enough with the excuses. Hope you enjoy - oh, and please review; my review alerts have been a little sparse lately ;) xxx**

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Chocolate

"It's kinda weird that I'm sex-lingerie shopping with you." Caroline half-whines. "I don't want to imagine what Damon's ripping off you in the heat of the moment."

"Well we won't be _having_ a heat of the moment if I don't find something."

"I can't believe he's being this stubborn. He literally used to have you up against every wall whenever he could. I remember only too well." She shudders at the memories. Elena smirks. Too many times, her and Damon had been caught in compromising positions. What she'd give for that again…

She sighs. "That was before."

"I guess it's true when they say a baby kills your sex life, huh?"

"Yep." She pops the 'p' just like Damon does. It's just another trait of his that's rubbed off on her over the years.

"Why doesn't he just have little Damon... _you know_ ," Caroline raises her eyebrow, "snipped."

"Because then I can't have another baby."

This time, the blonde actually scoffs whilst rolling her eyes. "There's _no way_ Damon's going to consent to you guys having another baby."

"I know, ergo..." she gestures around the store at the satin and silk and lace.

"Ergo?"

"Ergo I seduce him and _really_ make it count."

"Oh my God Elena!"

The brunette simply shrugs. She made her mind up weeks ago.

"Isn't that kind of illegal?"

"No."

"You're tricking your husband into getting you pregnant when he very clearly _does not_ want another child."

"But he _does_ want another. I know he does. To quote him on our wedding night, " _Elena Salvatore, I want to make a whole army of kids with you."_ He just doesn't want me to go through labor again."

Caroline shakes her head. "You guys are weird."

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"Not. I don't want to be a party to this ridiculous situation. I'm going to find something to tease Klaus with later."

X

Elena loves the black Amex with her name on it. She loves it not because she can spend whatever (although that point is kind of nice too, obviously) but because it means there's enough money in Damon's - _no,_ _ **their**_ \- bank account that neither of them have to work. It means they can both be at home, together, with their daughter and the only tiredness generated in their lives comes from her. It means security, not of love or protection because she gets that from _him_ , not from his money, but any financial worries she ever had are alleviated by the presence of that card. If they need healthcare, they get the best. If they need to pay for Ariella's school in the future, she'll have the best.

He told her once, when she'd asked him why on earth he'd continued to save all of the money he had over the years rather than spending it, that he knew he'd need it in the future. That something would come his way that meant it had all been for a reason. Plus, what fun was money if nobody was there to share it with him?

Popping the card back in her purse, she smiles at the cashier and takes the bag with its red ribbon for handles. The best part of shopping is showing Damon what she's bought. She can't wait to see his face later.

When she arrives back home after dropping Caroline and her bag of blue lingerie off, Elena finds Damon in the pool, dipping a giggling Ariella into the water and looking like the happiest man in the world. She feels slightly guilty - that she should be content with their daughter, and she is - she really is. But she also wants Damon to have a son. Because the family name should be carried on. Because she's always imagined having a child running around her feet with a mess of dark, curly hair and olive skin and blue eyes. Because actually, although he doesn't realise it, having a son would complete him. Elena knows though, and she wants to give him that. She wants her daughter to feel the sense of pride at being a big sister that she felt when her parents brought Jeremy home from the hospital. And, of course, if she gets pregnant, it's pretty much a free pass for as much sex as she can get for nine months.

She joins them in the pool after changing into a green bikini that she hasn't worn since before she got pregnant. Her boobs kind of spill out of the sides a little which never happened before, and the expanse of stomach uncovered by material isn't as toned as it was the last time. For a few minutes, Elena has a small crisis of confidence and considers pulling on a kaftan. But then she sees Damon's eyes roam over her body appreciatively as she enters the water and it makes her feel warm and loved and sexy as hell. He kisses her, Ariella content to gurgle between them, and when her hands start wandering over the planes of his chest and down toward his swim shorts, she has to remind herself silently to save it for later.

X

 _Later_ comes at 9pm. It's taken a while to settle Ariella tonight; longer than usual - almost as if she knows the predicament her father is about to find himself in. Damon is cooking dinner because after the lasagne attempt a few nights ago, she's no longer allowed to make anything other than cereal without supervision. A delicious smell of herbed chicken wafts through the house and upstairs to where she's standing in front of the mirror in what has to be the most sinful lingerie she's ever bought. Smiling at part two of her plan, she pulls on her robe, its pink cotton ready to lull Damon into a false sense of security that underneath is a set of innocent pajama shorts and a tank top. She grabs the pot from its place inside the red-ribboned bag and carries it downstairs nonchalantly, setting it on the counter while Damon busies himself carving the chicken.

Her mouth waters at the smell of perfectly-basted meat and then again at the way his muscles ripple under that tight white t-shirt he's wearing. No, _owning_. There is no smoky haze tonight; nothing is burned, just simply cooked to perfection because he is Damon Salvatore and everything he does is perfect. Sometimes, it pisses her off that he's good at everything. But most of the time, it just makes her feel unbelievably lucky that she's the one who gets him and this perfect life he created for them.

"Want me to open the wine?" She asks, finally succeeding in getting him to look at her. He stops carving for a moment, clearly taking in the sight of her dressing gown and unstyled hair. He smiles. Elena tries to hide a smirk.

"There's a sauvignon blanc in the fridge."

She debates _accidentally_ brushing past him on her way across the room but then thinks better of it. Instead, she uncorks the wine with a bit of effort - more than he would need which seems to amuse him - and pours out two large glasses of the almost-clear liquid. She takes a large sip from his glass, then hands it to him and he smiles as she takes a sip from her own. Elena's eyes flit briefly to the bag on the counter but she says nothing. She knows he's noticed it. She also knows he's purposefully not asking what's inside.

They spend the next twenty minutes enjoying the most succulent chicken Elena has ever tasted - and that's saying something because he took her to Italy for their their honeymoon and until tonight, she'd sampled the best food she'd ever had. Trust Damon to be able to beat a Michelin starred restaurant. Wiping her mouth with the white linen napkin, Elena smiles across the table as Damon's eyes roam her robe.

"Is that new?"

"Bought it today. You like?"

Now, Elena knows the honest answer to this question. He both loves and hates it at the same time. Loves it because it's covering her up enough that he's not insanely tempted to rip it off; it's not _that kind_ of a robe. Hates it because _it's not that kind of a robe_.

"I always like what you buy."

He also always knows what to say. She smiles again.

"I brought us back some dessert. I thought maybe we could enjoy it in the parlor."

Damon shrugs. "It's a nice night. We could eat it outside."

Elena stifles a smirk. It's hard to do. "Sure. Let me just clear up in here and I'll bring it out."

Damon stands up to give her a hand but she rests her fingers on his arm. Something spikes through her and she realises too late that even touching him now is a bad idea if she wants to play this right. If he's noticed the increase in her pulse, he doesn't let on. She's grateful. "You cooked. I'll clear away. Do we have another bottle of wine we can take out? And maybe some strawberries?"

He narrows his eyes at her and she plants a chaste kiss on his lips as cover. It seems to work.

"Don't break anything."

"I'll try not to."

As soon as she sees the outside lights flicker on, Elena grabs the jar out from the bag on the counter, microwaving it for a few seconds so that its contents are slightly warm - and more runny.

Damon has his back to her as she approaches the door, slipping her feet into a pair of heels she'd _conveniently_ left there earlier. She watches for a moment as he drains his wine, feeling her excitement pool between her legs as she tries to rein in her heavy breathing.

"You brought back chocolate." He tells her before she's even shut the door behind her. There's a hint of a smile in his voice and she can't help her own that breaks across her lips.

"I did. But I want you to close your eyes first."

"Elena?"

She rolls her eyes, though he can't see. He probably can tell. He's just that good. "Close your eyes Damon."

She bends to the side to check there isn't a hint of blue. "Good boy."

Reaching across the table, she grabs a strawberry, dipping it into the chocolate paint until it's almost fully-submerged.

"Open your mouth."

He does as he's told and she smiles at his compliance. It isn't always this easy. Careful not to drip the chocolate and give the game away, Elena cups her hand beneath the fruit, straddling Damon's legs so that she can have better access. Oh-so-slowly, she traces the strawberry around his lips, coating them in molten brown. His eyes fly open at the sensation, but Elena raises an eyebrow and he keeps quiet. There's an inward fist bump right there. She's getting better. Getting...more like _him_. She pops the strawberry into his mouth and as he bites down, takes the opportunity to trail her tongue along his lips, licking and sucking until the only evidence of there having been chocolate there is the sweet smell and the sticky residue on her own lips.

"Another?"

He nods in reply and Elena repeats the motion twice more until he reaches behind her and dunks his own strawberry into the chocolate. He doesn't tease her though, even as she's arching herself against him, waiting. Instead, he brings it so that it's the tiniest fraction away from touching her before securing his own lips around it, biting hard. When her eyes open in protest, she finds him staring knowingly at the v between the edges of her robe which has fallen open just enough to reveal the top of black lace.

"You went lingerie shopping." It's more of a statement than a question.

"I did." She replies, reaching for her own strawberry to dunk in the chocolate. "What do you think?"

Damon smirks as she makes a show of licking off the chocolate before sucking the fruit, closing her eyes with a soft moan.

"I think you're trying to kill me."

She rocks against him, half in an attempt to relieve some of the ache that's built up between her legs, half in an attempt to prove her next statement. "I'd say that actually, _you're_ trying to kill _me._ "

"Elena." It's a warning. She repeats her motion until his eyes roll back a little.

"Damon." She presses forward into his chest so that she can trace his ear with her lips. She sees him shudder and smiles knowingly; _almost_. "Please."

His hands are on her waist now, inching their way upwards and loosening the robe in the process. More black lace peeps out and he groans.

Without alerting him to the next stage of her plan, Elena dips a strawberry into the chocolate while Damon is too busy letting her nibble his ear to notice. Taking care _not_ to allow the excess to run off, she brings it towards him, smirking as a dollop of the sweet, sticky substance lands on her chest, right between her breasts.

"Oh uh."

He opens his eyes at the noise to find her holding the strawberry against her own lips, painting them brown before she does the same to his, letting him bite down on half before she pops the rest into her own mouth. His lips are on hers before she even has the chance to swallow the fruit and this time, the way she grinds into his erection isn't on purpose; it's purely instinct.

Damon licks and sucks his way along her mouth, moving down to that gorgeous v left exposed by her robe. Elena's hands find their way to his hair, tangling the loose strands of raven black behind his neck as her back arches further - if it's even possible. Her robe is entirely open now, part dangling behind her from her shoulders as the black corset ensemble takes centre stage. Damon's eyes snap open as he realises his hands are not on the olive skin he was expecting, but fingering their way across black lace. _Expensive_ black lace.

" _This_ is what you bought?"

The words don't sound like they even belong to him, and Elena's too far gone to even care. The corset had seemed a good idea in the store, and she can tell he's clearly mesmerised, but actually, right now, all she wants is the damn thing off so she can feel his hands on her skin.

His hands aren't the only thing she wants to feel. As soon as his left hand snakes around her back to tug at the ribbon, her own flies to his jeans zipper. As quickly as she started however, her hand is removed by Damon's right which then accidentally grazes her panties.

"Fuck Elena." It almost sounds like a strangled moan.

"I want you, Damon."

Fuck the ribbon. He seems unable to complete the removal of the corset quickly enough and simply gives up, standing from the chair with her legs wrapped around him so that he can move them over to the lounger. Elena barely registers the soft padding of the cushion beneath her as her panties are ripped off and she practically screams at the unexpected sensation on her clit. Instead of Damon's hands or tongue, she opens her eyes just enough to see him smear a line of the molten chocolate along the most sensitive part of her body. Her eyes shutting involuntarily, her back arches so far that she's almost bolt upright as Damon's expert tongue follows the chocolate once, twice, a third time and then she actually _is_ screaming his name as an orgasm rips through her.

It takes a good minute before she's recovered enough to open her eyes and when she does, she finds Damon teetering on the edge of caving. His eyes are so dark and narrow that if she didn't know better, she'd have sworn those irises were black.

"I'm having a vasectomy."

Of all of the things Elena might have predicted to fall from his lips, those words were completely unexpected. She pushes herself to a sitting position - which takes more effort than she imagined it would.

"What?"

"I can't take it any more. I need to be inside of you."

She gestures to her semi-naked state and then the black panties lying discarded on the paving. "I'm not stopping you."

"That's the problem."

"I'm hardly going to get pregnant from one time." Except actually, she's willing that to be the case because now she's got even less time to make this count.

"We both know it's _never_ just one time."

" _Please_ Damon." She's begging now because the moment he'd told her he needed to be inside of her, any kind of exhaustion dissipated and she can still see the effects of earlier on his jeans.

He offers a quick kiss to her forehead before taking a huge gulp of wine. "I'll call the doctor's office in the morning."

She's left then, not fully satisfied because when will she _ever_ be until he's inside of her?, as he makes his way back into the house, wine glass in one hand, the other rubbing the back of his neck harshly. She's got to step this whole plan up. And quickly.


	4. Poker

**A/N - Sorry it's been so long! Had a severe case of writer's block on this chapter but it finally turned out like I wanted. Thanks to all of you who reviewed last chapter with your kind words and for urging me to update. So we only have the epilogue left, but I've managed to update 'Holding On' (which is now complete) and I've also posted my new story 'Unscripted' (shameless plugging here - sorry) so I think it's a pretty good day.**

 **Hope you enjoy x**

* * *

Poker

The appointment is scheduled for a month's time. Elena is not happy. In fact, she's so pissed at him that she seems to have forgotten her insatiable need to have him at all times. It's a little disappointing in some ways, Damon thinks. In others, it's a God-send.

He watches her sing Ariella to sleep, her voice so low and comforting that he feels his eyelids start to droop as he leans against the door frame. She's given up with her nighttime attire and is wearing plaid shorts and a tank top, just like she used to when she was still in high school and he'd watch her sleep. Just because she's given up trying, it doesn't make things easier on him. She clearly has _no idea_ what those pajamas used to do to him when she was human (the first time) and dating Stefan. They still fit her though - perhaps a little more snugly than they did before (especially around the chest, but he'll _never_ complain about that) - and he's almost powerless against them. Almost.

Their little girl has closed her eyes and is breathing steadily in her crib, the pink sleepsuit Elena has dressed her in covering her so that all that's poking out are those tiny little fingers and her dark curl-covered head. Elena doesn't know he's there. She only sings like this when she thinks she's on her own because even though it works every single time for Ariella, she thinks her voice isn't good enough. Good enough for what, Damon isn't sure. _Everything_ she does is _too good_ for him. He leaves her to it because this moment isn't for him, making his way downstairs to start dinner.

Elena joins him after a few minutes, drumming her fingers impatiently on the countertop as he adds various ingredients to a pasta sauce. Her knee is bouncing up and down, undoing all the hard work she's put into making it look as though she's no longer bothered by their lack of sex. That appointment can't come quickly enough.

"Feeling okay?" he asks with a smirk.

"Fine." Her tone is clipped. That knee is still bouncing against the bar stool.

"You want to try?" He holds out the wooden spoon coated with a layer of tomato sauce.

"Nope."

"You _sure_ you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine." Elena stands and huffs her way over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer. She flips the cap off and downs half of it in about twenty seconds. He's starting to feel uneasy. The fact that he refuses to do what she wants shouldn't drive her to alcohol.

Damon turns the gas off quickly and practically throws the spoon into the pan. She looks up, her eyes dark and dangerous and he's across that kitchen in milliseconds, grabbing her by the waistband of her pajama shorts to pull her flush against him.

He devours her mouth with his, allowing his tongue to roam with abandon as she moans against him and digs her fingernails into his biceps. Reaching behind her thighs, he lifts her up to place her ass on the counter, using the movement to remove her little shorts. They'll need to clean the counter afterwards; she's soaking. The way she's writhing against the cool marble tells him this isn't a time to be slow and gentle, and so Damon inserts two fingers into her soft folds, his cock hardening as he feels her walls clench around him. Elena's breaths are shallow and he returns his mouth to hers, bruising her lips as his thumb presses against her clit. Her hips are lifting each time he pushes his fingers into her, taking them as deep as she can while he swallows her moans and gasps. She comes in minutes, her body rigid as her orgasm rips through her, her fingernails marking his arm in punishment.

He gives her only seconds before lifting her back off that counter, carrying her into the parlour where he lays her on the couch. She still looks thoroughly pissed at him, and so he simply cocks an eyebrow, pressing a kiss to her clit before his tongue laps at her folds and she's moaning once again. He lets her rest a foot on each shoulder as he pulls the material of her tank top up and over her head, revealing her bare breasts in all their glory. Careful not to give her any leverage - or anger her further - Damon tosses the top over the couch and returns his lips to her body, kissing his way between the valley of her breasts and across to her left nipple, tugging it lightly between his teeth as she chokes out his name for the first time.

He pauses to answer her, "Yes?" but she simply grips his shirt and pulls him back down on top of her, growling without a reply. Pissed Elena is hot as fuck. Wasting no more time, his lips go back to her centre, working her until she's gasping for air, at which point he slips his tongue inside of her and she snaps, screaming her release so loud he worries Ariella will wake and ruin what he plans to do next.

Luckily, the monitor stays quiet and so Damon continues his punishing regime. If Elena wasn't satisfied earlier, she will be by the time he's finished tonight. Waiting until her breaths even out a little, he lifts her again so that her legs are wrapped around his waist and he can walk them upstairs and towards their bed. His cock is begging to be released but he shifts her so that she can't rock against him, his arms working overtime to keep her from being pressed into his centre.

By the time he lays her down after kissing along her collarbone and sucking her neck, she's soft and compliant and seemingly willing to let him have his way. He struggles to hold back a smile. Pissed Elena is hot but sexually cooperative Elena is even better.

If he takes this slowly now, it will ruin his hard work. He intends to make her come so hard that it induces a sleep coma, and nothing short of that will be good enough, he decides. Her hands grip the sheets as she senses what he's about to do and she turns her head into the pillow, the soft down feathers inside muffling her moans as Damon takes her waiting nipple between his fingers, tweaking and flicking until her hips are rising so far off the mattress he has to lay a palm flat on her stomach to hold her in place.

"Please," she begs through dry lips and with screwed shut eyes.

"Not yet."

Not even when he was in full-blown blood lust had he had to exercise this much self-control. He'd better get a damn good reward up in heaven for this, he thinks.

He continues his ministrations on her other nipple until he can see on the sheets that she's ready for him. Flattening his tongue, he pushes it against her opening so he can taste all of her, and that pillow comes in handy again. Elena's thighs are clamped around him, holding him against her greedily as he licks a long line upwards, scraping his blunt teeth against her clit. She's coiled so tightly that her whole body is shaking, so he waits - longer than he knows she needs him to - before repeating his actions again and again and again until her moans are practically cries for help. He's not sure he's _ever_ seen her back arched this far before and he gathers himself just enough to speak gruffly,

"Hold on to me."

Her grip is like a vice as he palms his right hand under her ass to lift her towards him so she has to use his chest to stifle the noise she's making. Sweat is glistening on her skin and for a moment, she looks like she's still a vampire, her hair tumbling down behind her, her eyes open just enough to make her brown irises look black. And then Damon presses his thumb against her clit at the same time his middle finger slips a couple centimeters into her anus. She's done. Her orgasm rips through her so violently that it takes every ounce of strength he has to hold her in place while she rides it out, teeth sinking into his chest so hard she draws blood.

It takes a good ten minutes before she's recovered enough even to speak, so Damon just holds her there while he thinks of all the times she nearly left this earth back when they were running from the assortment of supernatural creatures who used to determine their existence. It's the only thing he can do to quell his own need for release.

"I don't think I can stand," Elena admits honestly, and Damon congratulates himself silently. He lifts her with him as he stands and simply places her in their bed before tucking the sheets around her. She's out before he can even lay a kiss against her skin.

Job done. Damon 1, Elena 0.

X

Things are a little weird around the house after that. She doesn't mention what they did...what _he_ did _to_ her… but she lets him kiss her good morning and good night and doesn't even complain when he sleeps with his back to her one night when he has a particularly painful erection. Either she's scheming again, or his actions were finally enough to satisfy her. He really hopes it's the latter.

Damon decides to test this theory one day when she's sunbathing on a lounger by the pool. The Camaro has been parked in the garage, safely tucked away for the odd trip he takes on his own. It's not safe enough for Elena and Ariella - not compared to that damn ugly Volvo he bought but he knows how much she loves that car. After all, that little road trip to Georgia is where they started really. Now though, he decides it's time to bring it out of hiding for a wash.

He can seeing she's watching out of the corner of her eye; her shades give her away. Once, he was watering the plants in just a pair of jeans and she pretty much jumped him against the wall of the house. Something about jeans and a hosepipe. Seems fitting that he should remove his t-shirt then.

When he glances over at her, she's turned ever-so-slightly so she doesn't have to crane her neck quite so far. She's intrigued, clearly. But in control. Damon turns the water on and begins spraying off the dirt that isn't really there before taking the soapy sponge to clean the windows. Elena's up from her lounger now and is making her way over with a strut more confident than he'd imagined she'd muster.

"Need a hand?"

This time, he's caught off-guard. The decision of whether or not to take up her offer of help is taken out of his hands anyway when she grabs the hose to remove the suds from the glass. She's wearing only a red string bikini and little shorts, commandeering the hosepipe like she's some sort of professional car washer. He's already a little hard and he knows she can tell, judging by the raised eyebrow and irritating smirk playing upon her lips. Now _his_ control is being tested.

"I'm going to make you a deal," she says suggestively, leaning against him to bend towards the car with an _accidental_ graze against his groin. He's _definitely_ hard now. He's furious at himself; how had he not foreseen this backfiring?

"Really?"

"Poker, tonight. You win, I'll keep my hands to myself." She runs a hand from her breasts, down her stomach and to the waistband of her shorts as if to _really_ cement her point.

"And if you win?" Damon's voice is hoarse. He curses himself inwardly.

"I get you. Any way I want."

He's played enough poker in his long, long life - he even spent a few years in Vegas, during which he learned to count cards - so she clearly doesn't know what she's proposing. There's no way he'll lose this one.

"It's on."

Elena brushes her lips against his ear, just lightly enough to send tingles up his spine. "It will be."

X

Oh, it's _on_. Elena smirks as she eyes herself in the mirror. Pregnancy has done wonders for her breasts and although she hasn't managed to shift all of her baby weight yet, she kind of likes the extra inch on her hips. She feels more womanly. Sexy even.

Underneath the red lace dress she's wearing (red because she likes it; lace because _he_ likes it) is a new lingerie set that she'd popped to the mall for a couple days ago. After his actions that night when he'd been in the middle of making dinner, she'd had to come up with something. A small smirk tugs across Elena's lips as she thinks about Damon's potential reaction toward the naughty little two piece when she ensures she wins.

As usual, he's taken things too far and has set up a poker table in the parlour. There's an air of boyish excitement about him as he sets out the chips and pours himself a large glass of bourbon while she cradles Ariella in a bid to soothe her to sleep quickly.

"I'll take her upstairs," she tells him. Damon nods before kissing their daughter's hair.

"Sogni d'oro, baby girl."

Desire pools in her centre. As much as he's hot as hell when he's topless and washing the car, nothing turns her on more than seeing him as a father to their little girl.

She lays Ariella down in her crib, smoothing the dark curls away from her eyes.

"I'm working on getting you a brother," Elena whispers into the darkened room. "And mama's gonna win tonight."

She joins Damon back downstairs to find a large glass of wine waiting at her side of the table. If she's going to win this thing, she'll have to concentrate hard. Sipping wine will have to be for show.

"Want to deal?" he asks her far too confidently.

She shrugs, nonchalant. "No, you deal."

"How many rounds?"

"Best of three," she states, faux-sipping her wine as he takes a slug of bourbon, eyes fixed on hers.

"Good luck."

Elena rolls her eyes. "Just deal the cards."

X

After round one, he's up and Elena is furious with herself. At some point, she obviously made a mistake with the counting. She knows Damon is doing it too, but she'll be damned if she lets him win this thing.

He deals and she finds herself with a king and queen of diamonds. She stares at him impassively, even as his leg creeps closer to hers so that his jeans are resting against the bare skin of her calf. If he's going to play dirty, she'll do it too. He deals her next card and just as he lays it on the table, Elena strokes her foot up his leg and his eyes shoot daggers at her. Perfect.

They continue exchanging touches until he's raised her and she's ready to receive her final card. Jack. So that's a straight flush. Even if he gets an ace, there's no way he can beat her this round.

"What do you have?" she asks saccharinely, bringing her wine glass to her lips without swallowing.

"Four of a kind." His voice is cocky. Laced with sex and he thinks he's won.

She sighs and he reaches forward with a grin to claim the chips before her hand on his stops him. Turning her cards over one-by-one, Elena smirks.

"Straight flush."

Damon chugs his bourbon and stands to get a refill. Elena thinks he might be sweating. Another round like that and she can claim what she's needed for months. Even the thought makes her wet in anticipation.

"Final round," he announces gravelly as he sits. "You're not drinking your wine."

"Not thirsty."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "You're concentrating."

"So are you."

"You won't win this round."

Plastering a mask of boredom across her face as she drums her fingertips on the table, she sighs. "Just deal the cards Damon."

He does and she finds herself with a two of spades and a five of hearts. Crap. He's smirking but she can't tell if it's a bluff. The next card she receives is five of clubs. At least she has a pair, but it's a pretty crappy hand to say the least. Her nipples seem to scream their need for Damon's attention. Silently cursing her body, Elena stares across at him with one raised brow, waiting to read his expression as he views his next card. He's impassive.

They continue in that manner until they both have five cards and Elena is inaudibly resigning herself to a few weeks' wait. Her two final cards sucked: not a high card between them.

"Ladies first," Damon drawls.

She takes a large gulp of wine for the first time that evening and winces as it burns her throat. She coughs a little and he looks pleased with himself as she turns the cards over. And yet, Elena realises his fingers are clenching the table.

"Your turn," she instructs. Her heart sinks when she sees a king of hearts and a queen of diamonds. There's no way she can win on high card now. But then he turns the third card over: two of diamonds. And the fourth: three of spades. The fifth card makes no hand category and it takes her a minute to realise she's actually won.

When she looks at him, his eyes are already pools of black because he knows where this is going next and there's no way he can fight her on it. She won the bet and she's about to claim her prize.

Elena flies across that poker table and jumps him, sending him back into the wall hard enough that he winces a little. He's hard already and she knows she should probably take this slow and savour the moment but her own body is crying out for him to fill her and she can't get their clothes off quickly enough.

Damon's the one who initiates moving towards their bedroom and she complies without question. She stares greedily as he removes his t-shirt before kissing as much of his skin as she can get her hands on. He's slightly more tanned than usual due to the hot summer sun earlier that morning. Being human has brought out more freckles in his skin and she loves that he's no longer the porcelain creature she first met.

He drops her to the bed and unbuckles his belt as she pulls the red lace dress over her head. Faintly, she thinks she hears a rip but it doesn't matter because she's about to be fully-satisfied and nothing else matters. They're naked in seconds and he joins her on the bed, ready to swipe her clit with his thumb until she breathes,

"I'm ready. Inside."

She's demanding when she wraps her fingers around the base of his cock and they groan together; him because he hasn't felt her on him like this for way too long, and her because she hasn't been allowed to feel him like this for way too long. Elena positions him at her entrance and he pushes inside, his eyes rolling back at the feel of her surrounding him.

She lets him move at his pace, which is too slowly (but yet, she knows if they go too fast, this'll all be over before it's even gotten started) for a few minutes, entwining her fingers with his until she can stand it no longer and flips them over so she's on top.

She sinks further down onto him, feeling him swell inside of her as he hits the spot she's been desperate for. Rocking against him once, twice, a third time, she groans as his hips start to rise and he meets her with each thrust. Elena can tell how hard he's having to control himself in order to hold on and so she stills her movements for a moment, during which he thanks her only with his eyes. When he's gathered himself, he places a hand on each hip to help lift her off of him so that she has enough force to slam down like she wants. Each time she does, she rotates her hips and squeezes him with her internal muscles so that he's choking out her name and they're both covered in a sheen of sweat.

Now it's his turn to flip them, and he does, drawing her thigh up with his hand so that he can spread her legs further apart to angle himself enough hit that sweet spot of hers repeatedly. Damon rocks into her, faster and harder and deeper until everything is him: scent, sight, sound, touch and taste. They tumble over the edge at the same time, him shouting her name against her breasts as she claws into his back and pulls him closer still as he empties himself inside of her in a hot, thick stream that seems almost never-ending.

They lie there, sweating and sated and utterly exhausted. Damon simply pulls her to him and closes his eyes. Elena watches him draw deep, even breaths of satisfied sleep and smiles to herself. Tonight, it's Damon 0, Elena 1.


End file.
